Because there were bars on it, I knew no one could get in, but apparently the thieves were desperate enough to have broken the glass behind the bars, reached in, and maneuvered the typewriter out. The only part left of my prized possession was the shift key, which had apparently broken off the keyboard. It was on the windowsill. I put it in the pocket of my winter coat, which I kept wearing until the super of the building came down to assess the damage, the police came to file a report, and I phoned a girlfriend to take me in for the night. The shift key reminds me of tougher times I endured,